


Wreakage and Ruin

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-18
Updated: 2006-06-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 21:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12418656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "This though perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,To love that well which thou must leave ere long."





	Wreakage and Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Sometimes, if she concentrated very truly, very deeply, she could remember what it felt like to be in his arms. And sometimes, she could hear his breath, hot upon her ear. The birds, he would whisper, look at the birds. And she would, and they would watch the birds, swallows, ospreys, and the occasional eagle, fly and swoop across the water.

She could still see, sometimes, the light of the fading sun through the interwoven leaves and branches of the willow tree that they were seated under. Sunlight, casting dappled shadows across their deeply tangled forms. How long they had lay there together, she could not recall, only that it had been too short, too fleeting.

Sometimes, if she lay still and focused for long enough, she could feel the grass tickling the nape of her neck, tender spring shoots that broke easily and stained her shirts with a vivid vert that was just beautiful. She could never bring herself to wash the colors out afterwards, and she still had the shirts, tucked away in her old trunk.

The birds, the water, the lovely hanging leaves: all of these memories were so precious, and it made her heart ache to think of them again. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had seen the elegant birds diving into the shallows, or as if everything, all of it, had been someone else's life.

But she loved recalling that distant past. Mostly, when she thought back on the long afternoons she spent with him, she remembered how leisurely the pace of life had been, how simple and pleasant, how sedate and seductive. The waves of war had been approaching, close to crashing upon the shores on which they lay upon, and they knew it. But who cared? She hadn't. She remembered chanting to herself. Life is pure, life is sweet, life is beautiful.

Life was short.

Because now, standing in the wreakage of Hogwarts, she didn't think that this was the same place that she and Harry had lay by the lake. She was fairly certain that she'd died and gone to hell, for God only knew what reason. She couldn't possibly have done anything horrible enough to have landed her in this wasteland.

Harry had left her, and he had never come back. Their tree had been savagely torn down, and there were no birds left flying. The sky was grey, bleak, and savage. It mocked her; the clouds leered. This is all that's left, they sneered. Turn around and go home, you little, frightened, hopeless girl. There's nothing here for you.

Ginny looked across the grounds for a moment longer. If she waited...

...there would be nothing. No one was walking across the grounds towards her, to embrace her as her fairy tale would have it.

She turned around.

There's nothing here for me.

She left.


End file.
